


Nobody Else Can Bind You

by moonflowers



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Because I'm incapable of leaving things even slightly angsty, Billy with Healing Powers, Confessions, Fluff, Getting Together, Kissing, Let Steve Sleep, Light Angst, M/M, POV Alternating, because Neil, experiment!billy, mentions of abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-13
Updated: 2019-04-12
Packaged: 2019-10-07 05:04:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17359532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonflowers/pseuds/moonflowers
Summary: Caught up in the strange sensation, he somehow dredged up the focus to look across to the other boy. Hargrove’s eyes were screwed shut. He was biting at his lip, sweaty and breathing hard, hoarse little gasps creeping through when he clenched his teeth against the pain. Steve opened his mouth to ask if he was okay, but the words were snatched away when he felt one final tug around his hairline where the asshole had smashed the dinner plate. Billy finally caved and cried out, tears in his eyes, as the last of Steve’s aches and pains died away. He let go, and slumped back away from him.Steve looked down at his now unmarked, blood-free knuckles. “The fuck did you do?”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by this Tumblr [post](http://the-wandering-whumper.tumblr.com/post/179823751581/tat-if-a-character-has-magical-healing-but) the gist of which is: a character has magical healing powers but absorbs the other person's pain when healing them. I know healing power Billy fics exist already but hey ho I really liked the idea.
> 
> Title from Dokken’s Breaking the Chains, one of my fave Billy songs.

In the aftermath, it was Steve and the kids that got back to the Byers’ place first. Steve felt that bit closer to straight up sobbing when they pulled up and there were no other cars in the drive. It was just… he was feeling pretty fucking terrible, okay? He was still shaking, back and shoulders sore from their little trip into the tunnels, and he felt nauseous from the way his head was throbbing, thanks to its run in with a plate and Billy Hargrove’s fists. And it just might have been nice if there was an actual adult he could hand over the responsibility of keeping an eye on the kids to, and crawl into bed to sleep for a thousand years until he'd forgotten the waking nightmare that the whole fucking day had turned out to be. He left the Camaro in the drive – despite feeling like complete and utter shit, as he was conscious, it didn’t seem all that responsible to let Max drive it on the return journey too – and ushered the kids back into the house to wait for the others. Although the lot of them were sore and shook up and running on fumes, they were still being rowdy as hell.

“Guys, keep it down, okay?” he said half-heartedly as they all thundered into the house, “it’s late...” Not that any of the neighbours were close enough to hear much, but he felt like he had to say something.

No one answered. The whole lot of them had gone suspiciously quiet, and Steve hurried in after them, half expecting to find the demodog he’d helped Dustin stow in the fridge magically alive again and ready to tear them apart. Not exactly, but he was close – Hargrove was just waking up.

“Shit…”

He was sitting up, head in his hands and squinting through his fingers at the mess of Will’s drawings still taped to the walls, looking about ready to keel over again. The kids were watching him, uncharacteristically quiet and cautious, and Steve wasn’t even sure if Hargrove knew they were there. Which he might have thought impossible, considering how much noise they’d just been making. But during the drive back, the kids had proudly announced that Max had shoved a syringe full of Will’s sedative into her stepbrother’s neck, so it was hard to say exactly how aware of the situation he was.

“Stop fuckin’ staring at me, little shits,” came a gravelly rumble from behind Hargrove’s hands, “unless anyone wants to explain to me what the fuck Maxine just shot into my neck?” 

That did it. The kids all shoved at each other and scuttled off into the other room, hissing and whispering. Steve snorted out a laugh. He was too exhausted to bother hiding it, and he had exactly no sympathy for Hargrove being stabbed in the neck with a needle by his kid sister – the guy had punched his face to mush. But he couldn’t just let him fucking sit there all night either, especially if he was going to start asking questions Steve didn’t know how to answer. He probably should have been more wary of him after their fight, but he'd narrowly avoided being eaten several times in the past two hours, and Hargrove seemed a whole lot less of a problem next to that.

“Hey Hargrove,” he said, and Billy moved his hands away from his eyes to glare blearily up at him, rubbing at his temple. He looked a mess; face starting to bruise from the few hits Steve had managed to land, blood from a split lip down his chin and bared chest, skin tacky with cold sweat as the sedative wore off. “Need a hand?”

Hargrove grunted, reached out a slightly shaky hand for Steve to take and help heft him unsteadily to his feet. “Thanks.”

Even though they’d hauled ass into the other room, the kids were back to being noisy and overexcited as they relived the night's events, and it carried easily through the thin walls. Steve could see how agitated, how wound tight, Billy was, jaw clenching harder with every shriek and laugh from down the hall. Which, honestly, he didn’t feel all that bad about considering how Billy’d rearranged his face a handful of hours ago. But he also didn’t want to encourage him to snap and go berserk on them all again, so. “Want a smoke?” he jerked his head towards the front door.

Hargrove narrowed his eyes like it might have been some kind of trick, but after a particularly loud shout of laughter from Dustin and Lucas, he ground his teeth, winced and nodded. “Sure. Why the fuck not.”

Steve led the way as they dragged themselves out into the night air, both of them slow and unsteady, Billy looking about as woozy as Steve felt. It was still and quiet, the sudden calmness disorientating after everything Steve’d had to drag himself and the kids through that evening. For a minute he just breathed, smoke and cold air in and out, and tried not to think about anything. But once the lingering high from it all had begun to ebb away, the pain started to slink in in full force. His head was throbbing, blood sticky on his forehead and knuckles stinging from where he’d split them on Hargrove’s face, ribs aching from the punches the other boy had gotten in. He winced and fumbled his cigarette when his sore right hand gave a sudden twitch, and it landed in a muddy puddle in front of the porch.

“Fuck.”

There was a funny sigh-snort-laugh from next to him, and he looked up to see Hargrove, eyebrow raised and holding out his own smoke. He still looked clammy and nauseous, but a little more alert and less like he was about to pass out. “Here.”

Steve was too tired to make a fuss, and took the offered cigarette. “Thanks.”

“I’m sorry,” Hargrove blurted out as soon as the heavy silence fell between them again, looking carefully away into the trees. “I didn’t mean it.”

Steve couldn’t help but laugh at that, though it made him cough on the smoke and his ribs twinge again, as he handed the cigarette back. “Right. Because that makes it okay. And it sure felt like you meant it.” He dimly wondered if it was really the best time to be picking another fight, but he couldn't stop himself.

“That’s not what I – “ Billy snapped, rubbed a hand through his messy curls, fingers snagged on a tangle. His knuckles were busted up a lot worse than Steve’s. He wasn’t fucking sorry about it. “I was pissed at my dad, and at Max,” he said, more calmly, but still tight, lips pressed together, “and you were there. It shouldn’t have gone that far.”

“Well, thanks,” Steve said dryly, too beat to be properly mad at him, but nowhere near ready to accept the shitty apology either. “But it’s a bit late for that, don’t you think?”

Hargrove sighed, frowned like he was thinking something over, and blew out a long stream of smoke. “Come here,” he said decisively, straightening up.

“Um, what?”

“I said, come here, Harrington,” he said, slow and lazy, like the novelty of talking to Steve had worn off and he was starting to get bored.

“What do you – no!” Steve jerked back as Hargrove made a grab at him, smacking his hand away. “Get off me man, what the fuck!” Adrenaline began to creep back in again as he readied himself for round two of fighting off Hargrove. Apparently he couldn’t catch a fucking break.

“Harrington, just – “ Billy cut himself off as he lunged at him again.

They grappled weakly for a moment, both tired and grunting, until Billy managed to pin one of Steve’s arms to his side and shoved up his jacket sleeve to get a firm grip around his bare forearm. 

“Let go, asshole,” Steve managed to hiss out, but Hargrove wasn’t paying him any attention. He looked down at where Billy's bitten-short fingernails were digging into his skin. ”What are you – “

He stopped talking when he felt his face turn hot and swollen and tingly, even more so than it had been before. But the pulses of pain were growing less by the second, like the sting of each cut and ache of each fresh, tender bruise was being drained away. Caught up in the strange sensation, he somehow dredged up the focus to look across to the other boy. Hargrove’s eyes were screwed shut. He was biting at his lip, sweaty and breathing hard, hoarse little gasps creeping through when he clenched his teeth against the pain. Steve opened his mouth to ask him if he was okay, but the words were snatched away when he felt one final tug around his hairline where the asshole had smashed the dinner plate. Billy finally caved and cried out, tears in his eyes, as the last of Steve’s aches and pains died away. He let go, and slumped back away from him.

Steve looked down at his now unmarked, blood-free knuckles. “The fuck did you do?”

“Fixed you up,” Hargrove said, voice rough, still panting and eyes on the ground.

“What?”

Hargrove sneered at him, an unamused twist of his lips. “Your face, dumbass.”

Steve reached up, heart thudding and slightly nauseous again, to gently touch his own face. When he realised the gash on his temple was gone, he ran his hands over his head more frantically, searching for any of the cuts and bruises, the pain, that had been there moments ago. It was all gone. “Shit.”

He turned tail, stumbled back through the front door and into the bathroom to look in the mirror. His face was pinked up and a little tender, odd patches of dried blood caked on over cuts that were no longer there. The still-forming bruises were gone, and he could open up his eye properly. He peeled off the still clinging brightly coloured band aids the kids had plastered on. It was all healed. _Billy,_ had healed him. He gripped the sink so hard it felt like his fingers might crack. But then at least, he thought, a little bit dopey with shock, Hargrove could fix him up again. He felt numb and heavy, wasn't sure if it was from the surprise, the lingering effects of what Billy had done to him, or just the evening in general. In a daze, he went back out to the porch to see Billy sullenly waiting there still, sitting on the porch steps and chewing on his thumbnail. He’d half expected him to have fled.

“How come – " his voice came out all thin and creaky. He cleared his throat. "I didn't know you could do that.”

Billy looked surprised for a second, blinked like he'd been expecting Steve to say something else. Then he flipped and got all puffed up again, prickly and snarling, shoulders squared and lip curled back in threat. But Steve wasn’t afraid of him now, if he ever really was in the first place. “You fuckin’ tell anyone Harrington, and you’re dead.”

“I’m not going to tell anyone, asshole,” Steve waved aside his posturing, tired of _that_ along with everything else, held out a hand to help him up for the second time that evening. Billy narrowed his eyes before taking it. His palm was hot and rough, a little slick with sweat, and Steve's finger brushed the worn leather of a watch strap at his wrist. “Look, man," he said, "who am I gunna tell, and who's gonna believe me?” Probably quite a few people, he thought to himself, after all the other crazy shit they’d dealt with. But Billy didn’t need to know that part, and it wasn't like Steve was about to go blabbing Hargrove’s business everywhere anyway. He didn’t like the bastard all that much, but he wouldn’t wish the consequences of the wrong people finding out about his... gift, on anyone.

Billy thought it over for a moment, apparently unable to come up with an adequate answer to that. “Fine. But if I hear any - ”

"Yeah, I got it," he mimed zipping his lips, and Hargrove snorted.

"I mean it, Harrington," he said. "I'd be so, _so_ dead."

Steve didn't think Billy meant it literally, but it was all too easy to put together a scenario where it happened. What he'd found out about Billy... well, it wasn't exactly small thing next to the things he'd witnessed, but it was certainly on equal footing. And he'd had enough practice at keeping shit to himself; which meant he understood how easy it was to obsess over the fear of secrets being uncovered. It left him feeling unsettled, like the two of them had something oddly specific in common, although Hargrove didn't know it, something that left them somehow connected. He made sure he had Billy's full attention before saying, "I promise."

Hargrove hesitated, uncharacteristically cautious, busted lip caught between his teeth, “I wanna - I don't know - _fuck."_

"Hey man, you dont have to tell me anything else - " 

"No," he interrupted, sharp and angry, but Steve got the impression it wasn't him Billy was angry at. "I've got to or I'm gonna - " he broke off. "I'm just so _fucking tired,_ Harrington."

"Okay," Steve said softly, unsure what to do with Hargrove in the odd mood he was in, other than to wait him out. He was fucking unpredictable at the best of times, and that night was definitely _not_ the best of times.

“What I said before... when I said I was mad at Neil and Max, and you just got in the way,” Billy said quietly, studying his own, still blood-covered knuckles. It struck Steve as weird that he hadn't healed his own wounds, but he had bigger answers to sniff out. "It wasn't just that."

“What else then?” Steve was used to feeling a couple steps behind, but Hargrove was really losing him now.

“Because I can’t fucking have you, Harrington.” He smiled, a small, sad, soft thing that only lasted a moment before his expression shuttered again, back to being cool and blank and mean. But it was only fixed on Steve for a second before Hargrove slunk off back towards the Camaro, leaving Steve alone on the porch and wondering what the hell he was meant to do with that. He couldn’t have said which part of his day had been the most unbelievable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With this fic, Stranger Things officially becomes the fandom I've posted most content for on AO3. So there's that.
> 
> There may be two more chapters, but I'm not sure if or when, so I'm going to go ahead and mark this as completed for now.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just like everyone else, I saw those two seconds of Billy’s chest in the trailer and was moved to start writing again, so here’s more of this.  
> Warnings for a few slurs, and general reminders of how much of a tit Neil is.

It was real late when Billy pulled into the drive. He hadn’t gone straight home when he’d left Harrington staring after him from the Byers’ doorstep, after he’d made the stupidest mistake of the whole shitshow of a night. There were two things that Billy’d needed to keep under wraps, no matter what; his freakshow lab-engineered healing powers, and the fact he was halfway in love with Steve Harrington. And in the space of ten minutes, he’d blown his cover on both counts. _Because I can’t have you._ Of all the fucking dumb parting lines he could have thrown Harrington’s way, he’d had to go with that.  
So yeah, his head hadn’t been on straight enough for him to go home and face Neil after that. Instead, he’d driven around the empty streets a while, in the hopes that someone else would have the sense to drop Maxine back and provide a decent explanation as to why it wasn’t Billy dutifully bringing her home safe. He’d driven around in the dark, wondered just how much more Harrington probably hated him now than he already did. Not that he cared about Harrington’s _feelings_ or anything, only about how many people would know he was a queer freak with fucking magical powers come next week. But he didn’t want to think about Steve. Steve, who’d looked at him with interest instead of disgust or fear, who’d literally held his hand out to Billy to help him to his feet after Billy had rearranged his face. Twice. 

He sat in the car for a long time, steeling himself to go in. Getting out would mean he could no longer pretend the whole night just plain hadn’t happened, that he would have to face up to what came next. While he was still shut inside the Camaro he felt suspended in a kind of limbo, safe, detached and oddly calm. He waited for the lights to come on, for Neil to appear at the front door, ready to tell him off for the rumble of his engine waking everyone up at such an unreasonable hour, but every window stayed dark and the house silent. Despite that, when Billy eventually crept inside, he still expected Neil to jump out and start yelling. But there was nothing. Bone-tired as he was, he was tempted to fall straight into bed, but instead slunk into the bathroom to inspect his injuries. 

Split lip, and a bit of bruising and swelling around his cheek and eye thanks to Harrington. A dribble of blood smeared and dried all crusty on his chest. But not much else from the King’s fair hand. He could have healed them, easily. But he wouldn’t. As soon as his ability had kicked in, Billy’d been able to heal his own injuries just as good as he could heal anyone else’s. But, just like with anyone else, he had no real control over which specific hurt or area he was healing – it just came out in a body-wide rush and healed up everything in one go. It was something he’d never managed to refine, which was fucking annoying, in this case in particular. 

Annoying, because his dad knew about his ‘gift.’ It was his fault Billy was stuck with it. And it was clear Neil hated what his son could do, which seemed pretty fucking rich to Billy when he was the one that had signed the paperwork and handed him over. To him, it was just one more thing that marked Billy out as different. He kept a sick track record of any bumps and bruises Billy got – a burn from fumbling his lighter, or a stray elbow to the ribs in basketball – as well as any he dealt out himself, so he would know if he’d healed himself and could punish him for it. His dad never hit him real hard, only the odd sting of a slap or mottled bruises left behind from where he’d grabbed him or shoved him into a wall or whatever. For whatever reason, he seemed to draw the line at drawing blood. 

And unfortunately, Billy had a bruise blooming on his lower back from where Neil had thrown him up against the bookcase earlier that night after he’d mouthed off, and fingerprint bruises on his shoulder. He couldn’t heal himself up after his run in with Harrington because he’d wipe away those bruises too. And his dad would know he’d healed himself when he next felt the need to make Billy take off his shirt so he could check him over, would call him weak and cowardly and a freak for ridding himself of them. He’d have to leave it, in the hopes his dad wouldn’t notice his split lip and bruised knuckles – he would – and tell him a half-truth; that he got into it with a guy from school over a girl or ball game or whatever if he did. If he was especially lucky, Neil wouldn’t care at all. Hell, sometimes Billy’s bumps and scrapes put him in a good mood, as proof he hadn’t used his ‘gift.’ 

He washed the blood off as best he could and gulped down some water. His throat was sore, knuckles stinging and face aching, still nauseous and uncoordinated. Whatever Max had injected him with had left him feeling unbelievably shitty; it was a miracle he hadn’t crashed the car. Probably would have done everyone a favour if he had, but fuck off was he going down that easy. He took a piss, and decided to deal with the rest tomorrow. 

#

The next morning, he was aching like a bitch. But grimly pleased he hadn’t healed himself – Neil would have more than enough ammunition to work with after last night, Billy wasn’t about to give him more if he could get away with it. He stretched out under the sheets and thought about Harrington, all the way across town and probably still in bed too, who wouldn’t be aching at all since Billy’d fixed him up. Billy let himself stay in bed a minute longer, lying on his side and sliding his watch down a little to stare at the small 006 inked on his wrist, and thought about what Harrington might look like when he first woke up.  
Everything was unsettlingly quiet. When he couldn’t bear it any longer he got up and dressed, going through the motions and trying not to jostle his sore body too much, before he went into the kitchen. It was still quiet, the radio on low and the odd car passing by, nobody speaking. His dad was reading the paper, Susan quietly sipping coffee, and Maxine looking half asleep and ignoring them both. That was until she saw Billy come in, when she straightened up noticeably in her seat.

“There you are,” Susan said, giving him the smallest timid little flick of a smile as he sat down, eyes darting nervously over to where Neil continued to pay none of them any attention. Billy wondered what he was missing; Neil didn’t look nearly as murderous as he was expecting. “That nice Harrington boy dropped Maxine home last night,” she continued, and Billy almost choked on his toast. 

“Just like he told you he would, _right Billy?”_ Max said significantly, eyes wide and fingers gripping tight on the edge of the breakfast table. There was a spot of egg on her chin.

“Yeah,” Billy said gruffly, still not sure what the fuck was happening, but Neil wasn’t yelling at him yet, so he was willing to roll with it, “sure.”

Susan’s smile grew a little more certain, positively beaming at her daughter. “He apologised for keeping her out so late, of course. But the kids were just so into their game and begged him not to break it up. It’s wonderful she’s made such good friends, isn’t that right Neil?”

Neil grunted and Max grimaced, and Billy still wasn’t sure how no one was yelling.

“Such a nice young man,” Susan continued, and Billy thought it might have been the most he’d ever heard her say in one go. Figured it would be Steve goddamn Harrington she’d chosen to start gushing about. “He said he told you to go on to your date, and he’d drop Maxine home after the game. Said something about owing you a favour. Is he a friend of yours? I’ve not heard you mention him before.”

“They play basketball together,” Max cut in before Billy could say anything. He glared at her. He could have fucking said that much for himself.

“Right.” He couldn’t bring himself to be properly mad at her though, not with how crappy he was feeling and how surprisingly well it all seemed to be working out. How eager she seemed to be to keep him out of trouble, and his forced promise to her last night. “You ready for school?”

“Yeah,” she got to her feet so fast the chair almost toppled over, and ran to get her bag.

“Wait just a moment son,” Neil said when Billy stood to follow her. Here it came. He’d been waiting for it. 

“Sir?”

Neil reached into his shirt pocket, lips pursed, and took out a slip of paper. “I want this done by the end of the week.”

Billy took the paper. It was a list of chores. A very long list of chores. “Yes sir.”

“Watch yourself next time,” Neil said pleasantly. “Maxine is home safe and sound, but it’s your job to bring her here, not the Harrington boy’s, no matter how _nice_ he might be.”

Billy nodded tightly and went out to the car. All in all, everything had worked out better than he could have hoped. Only one thing about it still rubbed him the wrong way, other than obvious question of what the fuck had they all been up to last night. That Harrington had told Susan he owed Billy a favour. He’d probably just been talking shit to make it all sound more believable – it was what Billy would have done – but that didn’t mean he had to be happy about it. Steve owed him fuck all. If anything, Billy owed him, and he didn’t like it.

#

It was a week later when Harrington finally sought him out in the school parking lot. Which Billy was pissed about, having spent the whole week of school with his heart practically in his throat, waiting for the whispers to start. But they hadn’t, not a word about his powers or anything else. Steve had skipped most of school that week – hadn’t put in an appearance until yesterday afternoon. Which was stupid; he had no reason to skip, since Billy had healed his face. And what a dumb idea that had been. He’d felt thrown off his axis ever since.  
As soon as Billy saw him approaching, he felt everything in him go tight, waiting for Harrington to scream fag or freak. But of course he fucking didn’t, because he was Harrington. Billy was almost annoyed when he didn’t. The long hours he’d spent working himself into a panicked fury over the things Steve might say to him the next time they crossed paths, and then he said nothing much at all. Fucking anticlimactic, was what it was. 

“Thanks for… y’know,” Steve gestured to his face when he drew up alongside him. Billy didn’t really think he deserved a thank you, since he’d been the one to fuck it up in the first place. But that was Harrington’s problem, not his. _He said he owed you a favour?_

“What did you tell the kids?” Billy pushed Susan’s remark out of his head, didn’t meet Steve’s eye. 

“I didn’t tell ‘em anything,” Harrington said, smile small and lopsided and far more relaxed than any of this shit called for. “I left the blood and band aids on to be safe, pulled a blanket up over my face and pretended I’d fallen asleep on the couch. It was Mrs Byers who came to check on me, and since she hadn’t seen the mess I was in before, she didn’t know any different. I uh, didn't let the kids get a proper look at me.”

"What about Maxine? You drove her home."

"It was dark," he said, "and she was tired. Too busy being mad at you to notice."

“Right.”

“Then I skipped a few days of school,” Steve carried on.

“Yeah, no shit,” Billy said.

“Then when I came back, I just avoided the middle school. I mean I know I’ll have to see them at some point,” he shrugged, “but I guess I’ll just spin some shit about a good doctor and a good bruise cream. Make up, whatever.” Billy stayed silent, and Steve rambled on to fill up the quiet. “And Nancy and Jonathan never saw how badly you rearranged my face either, so…”

“I’m guessing you don’t feel much like hanging out with them right now anyway, huh pretty boy,” he couldn’t help but prod at the weak spot. He never could.

But Steve didn’t snarl or snap or take the bait at all, just wrinkled his nose up and shook his head. “Yeah. Not really.”

“Smart of you, Harrington,” Billy said. “About hiding from the kids, I mean, not the princess and her new squeeze. Though I guess staying away from them is probably doing yourself a favour too.” Without thinking about it, he fiddled with the watch strap covering the number on his wrist, a nervous habit that only got worse the more he tried to break it.

“I still think you’re an asshole,” Steve said.

“Noted.”

Billy waited for him to say something more, about either of his poorly timed confessions, but Harrington didn’t say anything else. The two of them stood in silence until the kids came out to meet them.

#

It was Steve who sought him out again the time after that. Or, sort of. Billy was quite happy sitting in his car in the parking lot outside the arcade, waiting for Maxine. But when Steve pulled up alongside him to wait for the dumb boys his step sister hung out with, Billy could feel him staring. Eventually, when the intensity of it made him feel _itchy_ and on edge, he rolled down the window.

“Oh my God, _what?”_

Steve only blinked at him, looked guilty like he’d been caught out. Billy jerked his head to motion for him to come over. He did, leant up against the car beside Billy’s open window. His hands were in his jacket pockets, hip about level with Billy’s head, and he faced away from him when he spoke.

“I just wanted to…” he stopped.

“What, Harrington?”

“I was just thinking about uh, what happened the other night.”

“You mean the part where I pretty much told you I’m a fucking queer?” Billy said dryly, chewing on the end of his cigarette. Couldn’t fucking help himself. At least if he was the one to bring it up, he was in control. 

“I – No actually,” Steve said. “The part where you have magical healing powers, dickhead.”

“Oh yeah, that,” Billy said, purposefully casual, like it might have slipped his mind. “You haven’t told anybody.”

“I haven’t.”

“Why?”

He shrugged. “S’not my business, I guess.”

“You’re right, it’s not.”

“I haven’t forgiven you,” Steve said. “You were a total dick to Lucas, and just because you fixed up my face, doesn’t cancel out the fact that you were the one who busted it in the first place.”

“Yeah yeah,” Billy waved him away, despite the twinge of shame Steve’s tirade brought to his chest. “I’m not asking for your fuckin’ forgiveness Harrington. This isn’t a holiday special.”

“You’re such a - “

“But,” Billy cut him off, “that doesn’t mean I’m not sorry.”

Then the kids were pouring out of the arcade, laughing and shoving each other, and Billy couldn’t help himself, just had to ask, pick the scab and tear open the wound again, despite Steve having given him several chances to pretend it hadn’t happened. He wasn’t good with unfinished business. “So, are we not gonna talk about the part where I told you I want you? Since no one’s scratched the word ‘fag’ on the side of my car or been stupid enough to try and throw me in the dumpster, I’m guessin’ you haven’t told anyone.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

Steve laughed, a short, soft huff, turned to look down at Billy through the rolled-down window. “That’s not anyone else’s business either, man. But I’ve been thinking about that, too,” he said. “A lot.”

“Yeah?” Billy said, felt himself stretching up towards Steve from the drivers’ seat. They were inches apart. His eyes dropped to Steve’s mouth, lips parted. “And?” 

Billy could feel Steve’s breath on his face when he spoke. “I’ve still got some thinking to do.”

And then Steve was gone, swept away with the kids as they crowded around the car, still shoving and yelling, all elbows and laughter. But he snuck a look over at Billy once more before he started up the BMW, half obscured by reflections on the windshield, and Billy couldn’t help the twitch of a smile in return. He looked away when Steve pulled out of the lot, to see Max watching him with narrowed eyes.

“What?”

“You almost looked happy for a second. It was weird.”

“Get the fuck off my back, Maxine.”

He let her pick the tape they listened to on the way home.

#

Normally, Billy liked to make the most of the showers he took after gym class. Sure, the water wasn’t always hot, the walls were so orange they made his eyes hurt, and he was surrounded by the most irritating pack of dumbass guys the state of Indiana had to offer, but there was no one banging on the door telling him he’d better hurry up or else. Normally, he would gave taken as long as possible, stretching out and soaping up real good, throwing Harrington a wink for good measure, to piss him off or make him flush. But that afternoon, he just wasn't in the mood. It would feel too much like exposing a weak spot to Harrington, and he’d already given him too many little pieces of himself over the past couple of weeks. Unfortunately, it seemed like Harrington had had a similar idea, and Billy had barely made it back into the locker room, towel around his waist and hair dripping, before he heard another set of feet slapping on the floor behind him. Caught off guard, Billy panicked for a few fraught seconds – he hadn’t put his watch back on or had a chance to reapply the smear of cover up over the number on his wrist. In the end, he had no choice but to simply shove his hand behind his back, clenching into the towel in discomfort as he spun to face him.

Steve was already watching him, just as wet and undressed as Billy was. “So when you heal somebody – “

“Oh my God Harrington, would you give it up?” His eye dropped to the scrubbed pink skin of Steve’s chest, the freckles on his shoulders. “I don’t want to talk about it. It’s just how I am, end of fucking story.” 

“Fine, have it your way, man,” Steve shrugged and Billy turned his back on him again, using the excuse of pawing through his clothes in search of underwear as a distraction. “There’s something else I wanted to say to you anyway.”

“Yeah?” said Billy grumpily, digging around in his gym bag for his watch. “What’s that?” Steve didn’t say anything, which only pissed Billy off all the more, until he got so frustrated he couldn’t take it, stood up straight and spun around to face him again. “Quit fucking around Harrington, if you’ve got something to say then – “

Steve lurched forward, put an arm around Billy’s shoulder until one big hand, clammy with cooling water from the shower, was pressed against the back of Billy’s neck. Such a move from anyone was enough to make him flinch, and if it had been anyone other than Harrington he would have thrown a punch. But it wasn’t, and Steve was gently pulling him close, tilting Billy’s head back to kiss him, and any thoughts of starting a fight died away. Steve’s other hand had dropped to his waist, fingers splayed half on damp skin and half on the towel. After a second of surprised hesitation, Billy kissed him back, hard and biting, hand tangled in Steve’s wet hair and hard nipples brushing his chest.

“It’s your lucky day Hargrove,” Steve mumbled against his lips, “I’m pretty sure I want you too.”

That was more than enough of an excuse for Billy to reel him back for another kiss, quick and desperate in the scant moments they had before the rest of the team would finish up in the showers. Billy got the impression that there was still something, or several somethings, that Steve wasn’t telling him, and that he wasn’t quite forgiven for his stunt the other night. But he could live with that, as long as Steve kept on kissing him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote a whole other scene, but it really didn’t fit here so I guess there’s going to be a chapter three. At least.  
> I know things escalate a bit quick, but as much as I love it, I didn't want to rehash The Redemption of Billy Hargrove for the 84th time, so.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the comments/kudos on the last part :)  
> There's four chapters now woops. Quite short, but apparently this part just fits nowhere else lol.

They’d slept on the sofa. Which was fucking dumb, considering how big Steve’s bed was. But after night had fallen, they’d argued over which movie to put on, and fooled around some, dragging themselves all the way upstairs had felt like too much effort. Now the sun was coming up, and since they hadn’t bothered to close the curtains Billy got a fucking eyeful of it. He was always up with the sun, but it turned out he was a bit more reluctant to be when the alternative was dozing another half hour with an armful of Steve. Harrington was still asleep, the asshole, arm flung over his eyes and blocking out the warm swell of sunshine, deep breaths tickling the top of Billy’s head.

Billy wanted to tell him everything about himself. Had kind of wanted to since the first time they'd locked eyes, but even more so in the past couple of weeks that they'd been doing... this. Since Steve had kissed him. Tell him about every scar and every mistake, every dashed fucking hope. The good shit too, what little there was of it; wanted to preen over his A+ English papers, how much he could lift, the summer he’d learnt to play the guitar. Have Steve be proud of him. He kinda hated himself for it, but he _needed_ Steve to know him, as much as Billy wanted to know him. But it wasn’t just the normal shit with Billy though, was it. Not just the ‘oh, I don’t really get on with my old man,’ or ‘I can beat Max at Dig Dug,’ and ‘I’m actually really great at cutting hair, I’ve been doing my own the last five years.’ He shifted a little, turned his hand over where it was pressed to Steve’s side to bare the number inked on his wrist. Harrington still hadn’t asked him about it. He’d given it a second glance the first time Billy had forgotten to put his watch back on. But not the second time, or the third, in gym class when he’d sweated off the cover up. The only attention he’d paid it at all was to silently kiss it the night before, after they were done snipping at each other over the last slice of pizza or whose car was better – Billy couldn’t remember now – a dry press of lips. And Billy had wanted to laugh at him for it, mock him for being so damn soft about it, but it hadn’t seemed as funny as he thought it might be. 

“Mm,” Steve shifted underneath him, bare back squeaking on the leather sofa where his shirt had ridden up as they slept, “close the curtains.”

Billy snorted, made a point of going even more limp, a dead weight half on top of Steve. “Do it yourself.”

“C’mon baby,” Steve squirmed about, drawing his arm away from his face, eyes screwed up against the sunlight, “you’re closer.”

“You’re delusional.”

“You’re an asshole.”

Billy poked him hard in the ribs. Steve yelped, and Billy smothered it with a morning-breath kiss. He knew what Steve Harrington looked like first thing in the morning, and that was something to be happy about, right?

#

They were in school after hours, which might have seemed a crappy place to hang, but it was actually pretty convenient. Mostly empty, and slightly warmer than waiting outside in the parking lot for the kids to finish up their dorky club. Sure, they could hook up at Steve’s place pretty much whenever, but driving all the way over there just to drive back to pick up the kids would leave them with nowhere near enough time to do anything fun. And Billy _knew_ how long everything took. He’d catalogued every fucking moment he’d shared with Harrington since they’d started this thing. Almost a month now, which must have been some kind of record for Billy keeping anyone in his life and happy about it. 

“C’mon baby, we gotta go,” Steve said, between the soft, wet kisses Billy was pressing to his lips.

“They’re big kids, they can wait another five minutes,” Billy pushed Steve back hard against a desk and Steve’s right hand flew out to steady himself, gripping the metal under the table.

“Ah! Fuck,” Steve broke away from the kiss, drew away from Billy just enough to inspect the small, jagged cut on the underside of his index finger. “Shit,” he frowned at the blood welling from the tear when he pulled it away from his mouth. His lips were pinked up from Billy’s kisses. “Must’ve been something sharp under there.”

Billy took Steve’s bleeding hand in his, looked slyly up at him. “You want me to kiss it better?”

Steve smiled, rolled his eyes, before actually thinking about it. “Wait, can you actually do that – “

He was cut off as Billy dropped his hand, instead he placed a palm each side of Steve’s face to haul him in for a kiss, wet and filthy as Billy could make it, all the while, pushing his power out and into Steve. He eventually pulled away, clicked his jaw when they broke apart just to see the dirty look Steve gave him for it. “Better?”

“Huh?” Steve blinked, had obviously forgotten all about his hand while Billy’s tongue was halfway down his throat. Good. 

“Your finger, dumbass.”

“Oh.” Steve lifted his hand to get a look at it. Sure enough, the cut was gone, only a trickle of drying blood left behind on his healed skin. “Shit. You really did it.”

“Told ya I’d kiss it better, babe.”

Steve snorted, slung an arm around Billy to pull him forward into his chest, dropped a kiss to the top of his head. They were quiet for a moment, the loud ticking of a clock in the corner of the classroom announcing each second that passed while they should have been out in the parking lot, meeting the kids. “You ever going to tell me about it?” Steve said, and Billy tensed up in his hold. “Like, you don’t have to or anything, I just – “

“I wasn’t born like it,” Billy said into Steve’s chest, voice muffled in his blue and white striped polo.

He felt Steve go still underneath him, like he was being careful not to breathe too loud and spook him or some shit. “No?”

“No,” Billy said, reluctantly pulled himself away from the safety of Steve’s chest to look at him properly. Steve was waiting, wide eyed and patient. Billy didn’t want to fucking talk about it, not now, not ever. But he _needed_ Steve to know. “My dad handed me over to some dingy lab doing medical trials or somethin' when I was a kid. My mom – my mom was too ill to put up much of a fight, and dad couldn’t afford the hospital bills. So washed his hands of me in return for a fat cash payoff, they inked a number on my arm, and hooked me up to a whole bunch of machines and shit. Don't go feeling sorry for me or any of that bullshit Harrington, I don't remember most of it.”

“Billy, I – “

“But whatever… abilities, they’d been hoping to instil in me didn’t come through right away, so after a few years of being prodded at, they packed me off back to my dad with a shedload of disclosure forms.”

“Shit.” Steve sounded far away.

“Dad was disappointed.” He was disappointed with Billy for not being what the lab wanted him to be, disappointed his son turned out to be little more than a failed experiment. “But uh, he was even more pissed off when whatever shit they’d exposed me to finally did kick in.” Billy would never fucking forget it. He’d been disgusted, sickened by the sight of Billy’s freshly unmarred skin. He’d been ten, had fallen over trying to dash out of Neil’s reach. He’d scraped his knees real bad, panicked and healed them up before he could even start crying, the reaction out of his control. Then Neil hated him even more. “I thought he might’ve sent me back to the lab, in hopes of more cash, but I guess the shame of being stuck with such a fuck up of a son outweighed the payoff. He did everything he could to keep it quiet. It was why we had to move here. He was getting twitchy.”

Steve was silent for a while. Didn’t say he was sorry, didn’t pity him. Didn’t push him away in disgust. Billy thought he would have hated both of those things equally. “I think I know someone you should talk to.”

Billy flinched, jerked back to glare at him. “I’m not seeing some whack-job shrink, Harrington.”

“She’s not a shrink,” Steve said. “I just…” he paused, blew out a long, slow breath between his lips. “She just went through something similar? And I dunno if it’d be any help exactly, but it might be cool for you both to talk with someone who gets it.”

“’Something similar?’” Billy repeated, but moved forward to stand between Steve's thighs again, let himself be folded back into his arms. “Yeah, I fucking doubt it, babe.” 

Steve laughed, low and hot into Billy’s neck, kissed the skin there. The wetness left behind from his lips cooled quickly in the empty, unheated classroom. “I’ll let you decide that for yourself, man. Just talk to her?”

“Sure, whatever. If it keeps you from whining at me, it’ll be worth it.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apparently Kali is twenty years old, which means that Billy would have been more likely to be number nine or maybe even ten rather than six, but also I threw in a whole other branch of the lab in California so y'know. I'm not going to fuss too much over that.

Steve had already had vague suspicions about why Billy was the way he was. The healing powers thing, not the being an asshole thing. Although he supposed Billy spending his childhood as a freaking lab rat probably had something to do with the asshole thing too. But the moment he’d seen the number tattooed on his wrist, he’d known for sure. It was too much of a coincidence not to be the same people who’d messed with El. Billy had noticed him notice it too, so he’d kept his mouth shut, and was careful not to look again if he could help it. But then one night, the two of them sprawled out over each other on the couch and Billy mouthing off about one thing or another, it hit him. All that shit that happened to Eleven – not that the kids had spilled every detail – all that horrible, awful shit, would probably have happened to Billy too. But he couldn’t say anything. It wasn’t his place to go yapping about El to anyone, even if he was certain the same dangers of discovery that the kids kept on about applied to Billy as well. That and other minor setbacks, like the mountain of disclosure forms they’d all signed and the fact that Hopper’d fucking kill him. And Billy’d made it clear more than once that he just didn’t fucking like talking about it, and Steve was convinced he wouldn’t appreciate him interfering. So he’d let it go. He’d taken hold of Billy’s wrist and kissed it instead, expecting to either get laughed at or for Billy to get defensive, suspicious, wonder if Steve knew where he’d gotten the tattoo after all. He did neither though, just watched, face slack and softened with surprise. 

But once Billy had told Steve about the lab himself, there was no more avoiding it. It was too many secrets from too many people, and it just didn’t sit right with Steve to keep something so big from either El or Billy. They both had a right to know about the other. Which was why the two of them were in Hopper’s cabin on a cold Saturday afternoon, El eyeing Billy with curiosity, Hopper with suspicion. 

“So, no one’s going to tell me what this is about, huh?” He narrowed his eyes at Billy, El and Steve in turn, but none of them said anything. Steve still felt sort of like none of it was his business. Hopper let out a long sigh, rubbed a hand over his eyes. “If anyone draws blood, you’ll have me to answer to,” he looked between Steve and Billy. Which was probably fair – as far as everyone else was concerned, Billy’d never fixed his face up, and both boys still might have been two wrong words from hitting each other at any given time. They were civil in front of the kids, but never more.

Steve nodded tightly. “No one’s going to be bleeding, Hop. It’s fine.”

“Whatever you say, kid,” Hopper said. “I’ll be out back, if anyone needs me,” he looked to El as he shrugged on his jacket, but she was still watching Billy, “since it’s obvious no one’s going to start talking until I’m outta here.” The door swung shut behind him, and the three of them were left alone.

“I’ll um,” Steve jerked his head towards the door, ran his hand through his hair, feeling awkward as fuck and not sure if either of them would want him there for the heavy shit they had to discuss. “I should leave you guys to it, I guess.”

His attempt to excuse himself fell flat though, when Billy looked at him out of the corner of his eye, chin up and chest out like he did when he was trying to look tougher than he felt, cocky and careless. Which usually meant he was nervous, or uncomfortable, and about to do something dumb as shit or downright dangerous to distract everyone from it, to prove just how much he didn’t care. Steve had hung out with him enough to recognise it for what it was, by now. He gave his discomfort away further with the way his shoulder was slightly curled in, the way he was picking at his thumbnail. Steve knew him. Which shouldn’t have been a big revelation, after all the time they’d spent together. But apparently it had snuck up on him, only to hit him full force that afternoon in the middle of Hopper’s cabin.

“You can stay if you’re _that_ desperate Harrington. I don’t care.” The fact that Billy had bothered to tell him he didn’t care made it obvious that he did. If he really didn’t care, he wouldn’t have thought it worth his time to say anything at all. 

“Okay. I guess, if El doesn’t mind…?” he’d met her literally twice, still wasn’t really sure how to act around her.

El gave him a long, flat look, eerily similar to the way teachers would look at him when they were waiting on him to answer a question in class. “Billy wants you to.”

Billy blinked at her, caught off guard enough to forget to look like he didn’t care. “How the fuck could you know that?”

Steve wasn’t sure whether he should have been offended that El clearly couldn’t care less if he stayed or not, or thrilled that Billy obviously did want him there. It wasn’t the sort of shit that was easy for Billy to come out and say. 

“You’re not the only one here with superpowers, baby.” Steve winced as soon as he realised he’d let the pet name slip in front of El, but she wasn’t looking at him anymore, frowning intently at Billy again. “I’ll uh, just wait in the kitchen then.”

The kitchen was literally ten feet away and had no separating wall, but it gave the illusion of privacy. He leant against the cabinets and tried not to look like he was watching too closely. He felt like a bit of a spare part, but then Billy was there and talking to El, facing up to all the crap that he’d rather push aside and forget about, all because Steve had said he should. 

“That my sister’s?” Billy nodded to the pink shirt El was wearing.

“She gave it to me.”

“Looks better on you,” Billy said. “Pink clashes with all that red hair of hers.”

El didn’t answer him, but stepped a little closer, hand outstretched, to slowly take hold of his wrist. Surprisingly, Billy let her. She turned it over to look at the number Steve knew was inked there.

“Brother.”

Billy visibly flinched, hand jerking in El’s, but he didn’t pull away. “Er, no. My mom was in the ground before you were born, and my dad’s had the snip.” 

“…Snip?”

“Yeah. Ask your police chief about that.”

_Jesus._

“The bad men did this to you?” El said, effectively putting a stop to Billy’s bullshitting.

“Yeah,” his voice cracked, and Steve had to grip the side of the counter to stop himself going over, folding him up in his arms and squeezing him tight ‘til he forgot.

“Me too,” she held out her own wrist to him, showed him the number, just as stark and neat and unasked for as Billy’s. “Brother.”

“Right. Fuck. I’m going to need a moment to process that, kid,” Billy said after a long moment had passed and she’d let go. “How – how many of you are there?”

“I was the last one they made,” El said. “We stopped them.”

“Who’s ‘we?’” Billy said.

“Friends.”

“The nerds my sister hangs out with,” said Billy. “Right. So that must be what you weren’t telling me that night, huh Harrington?” he said dryly, shooting Steve an unimpressed look.

“Maybe.”

“We’re fucking talking about that later.”

Steve grimaced. “Sure.” The last fucking thing he wanted to do. But Billy had let all his demons loose for Steve’s inspection, it was only fair he do the same.

“We have a sister,” El said, looking between them to make sure they were done, “in Chicago. Eight.” 

“Of course we do,” Billy turned back to her. “Fuck.”

“She can make people see things,” El said. “Nice things, if she wants. But bad too.”

“Good for her.”

She tilted her head. “What can you do?”

He looked like he didn’t want to answer, like he was about to punch someone or bolt, and since there was no way in hell he'd be hitting El or Steve, he guessed the second of the two would win out if he let it.

“Billy,” he said, soft but loud enough to snap him out of whatever he had going on, “don’t be an asshole.” It was just the right amount of firm and casual, like they could have been arguing over pizza toppings or who’d played the best in their last game against Northwood. A gentle reminder that Steve was there, and that none of this shit had to be the end of the world if they didn’t want it to be. 

Billy snorted, the tension that had been building in him snapped and released at Steve’s words, “sure thing, Harrington.”

“I can move things,” El said, directed her attention to where Hopper’s keys sat on the counter, made them float up a few inches in the air. Yep, that was still weird.

“Shit,” Billy’s mouth dropped open.

“I can see inside people’s heads too,” El said, wiped the trickle of blood from under her nose. Billy looked panicked for half a second, before she added, “but Jim says I have to ask first, unless they’re bad guys.”

“I can heal people,” Billy said, all in a rush, like he wanted to get it out before he changed his mind. “Like… I could fix that,” he gestured to her still bleeding nose, “if you want.”

“Okay.”

He slowly reached out to put his finger on the tip of El’s nose. His eyes slipped closed in concentration, and the sluggish drip of blood stopped altogether. El blinked and went cross-eyed as she watched Billy move his finger away from her nose, before looking up at him, delighted.

“You’re good,” she said. “kind.”

Billy frowned and shook his head, like there was a fly buzzing around that he couldn’t escape, and looked a bit pink in the face as he pointed at her. “I thought you weren’t supposed to look in people’s heads.”

She shrugged, “it’s harder not to if we’re touching.” To make her point, she reached out to tap his finger.

He rolled his eyes. “Right.”

El’s face clouded over a little, hesitant. “You take their pain,” she said. “When you heal someone, you take their pain and feel it for them.”

“What?” Steve said, promise to himself to stay out of it forgotten. “You didn’t tell me that part, you dick.” Every time Billy fixed someone up – infrequent as it was – the time he’d kissed Steve’s finger better. Hell, the time he’d healed the mess he’d made of Steve’s face with his own hands… fuck. Though Steve thought maybe he sorta deserved that one, he still didn’t feel great about it.

“A man’s gotta have some secrets, Harrington,” Billy said breezily, before the false brightness disappeared and he rounded on Steve, lip curled back in a snarl. “And you don’t get to be pissed, asshole.”

_“What?”_

“You didn’t tell me that you knew where I came from,” he said, voice tight with a sort of angry desperation. “All this fucking time. You had me agonising over whether or not I should fuckin’ spill my guts to you, to tell you about the lab even though I hate talking about it. You already _knew.”_

Steve felt himself flush guiltily, wrapped his arms across his chest. “Well, I wasn’t sure I was right, to start with,” he said. “If I’d said anything to you and I was wrong, it would have put El and all the munchkins in danger all over again.” He shook his head, looked briefly down at the floor to gather himself up before meeting Billy’s eye again. “I didn’t want you to think I was… interfering, or whatever, not until I was sure. That’s why I waited until after you told me about it yourself. I – I was worried I’d push too hard and you’d turn your back on me altogether.” 

He was dimly aware that it wasn’t a conversation they should’ve been having over El’s head and with Hopper right outside, but he wanted to say it. Wanted Billy to understand why he hadn’t blurted it all out the second he’d had an inkling.

“Whatever Harrington,” Billy said after a long and loaded silence, looking surly but resigned, like maybe he understood.

“Steve is right,” El said. _“We are not stupid,”_ she said in an imitation of Hopper that made both of them snort and effectively broke the tension, followed by an eye roll of her own. “Have to be careful. For now.”

#

They drove to Steve’s in silence, comfortable, but with the distinct feeling that something had shifted. It was a feeling Steve had come to associate with the aftermath of anything to do with the upside down – relief that everyone had made it out okay, but knowing things wouldn’t be quite the same. It wasn’t until they pulled into the drive and Steve turned the key, the dark early evening suddenly quiet around them, that either of them spoke.

“You okay?” Steve said. Billy was looking out the window and chewing on his thumbnail, the porch light above the Harringtons’ front door lighting him up around the edges.

“Yeah,” he said roughly, “sure.”

“Billy?”

“Steve?”

“It’s a lot, I get it. And meant it, okay? I – I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner?” Steve said, annoyed by the way his voice ticked up and made it a question. “It just uh, it isn’t safe to go telling anyone about El, and I didn’t want you to think I was… I don’t know, pushing in where you didn’t want me – “

“It’s okay, Harrington.”

“But I – “

“Steve,” Billy finally turned away from the window to look at him. “It’s okay. I get why you didn’t tell me, alright? Yeah I was pissed earlier, but I’m glad you didn’t. I probably just woulda told you to fuck off if you’d tried.”

“Probably.”

“You gunna kiss me now, or what?”

Steve grinned. “Sure.”

He ducked across the centre console, hand on the back of Billy’s neck and curling soft into his hair to pull him into a kiss, a smiling, slow thing, that left Steve dizzy. They pulled apart just enough to rest their foreheads together.

“We should go inside,” Steve said.

Billy hummed and moved back to slump in his seat. “In a minute.”

“You sure you’re ready to fight monsters with us, Hargrove?” Steve said. Once Billy and El had caught up a little, as much as either of them were able without getting too mad, Hopper had come back in. Which Steve had been grateful for; he hadn’t felt up to getting Billy up to speed on everything that’d happened since Will Byers disappeared. Hopper knew more about it anyway. And Billy’d seemed positively gleeful about being roped in to fight the bad guys. 

“Piece of cake,” he said with half a sharp smile, eyes bright in the dimness of the Harringtons’ drive, “after everything else.”

“Mm.”

“The kids are going to hate it,” Billy said, again sounding far more cheerful about that than Steve thought was necessary.

He snorted. “Yeah, they are.” They were going to absolutely outraged that Billy Hargrove, of all people, had wormed his way into the edges of their family. A good word from El could go a long way to changing their minds though. And Steve would help if he could, not that any of them other than Dustin really listened to anything he said.

Billy reached across, edge of his hand just brushing Steve’s jeans, and without a thought, Steve took his hand to lace their fingers together. “It’s gunna be a lot of fun.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading :) I feel like there was maybe a lot left to talk about in this AU, but it was only ever meant to be one chapter of like 2000 words, and I don't think I have it in me to make any more of it.  
> I'm feeling a dumb, summer fic next I think.


End file.
